by Hayley White
“Is this where you hide out?” he asked, a peculiar question to which Ever couldn’t think of an answer.
Even on the open street his presence was intimidating. He looked good outdoors. Staunch. Braced. The weather appeared to be a stimulant rather than an inconvenience to him. In his dark grey London Fog coat and upturned collar he looked like the wind itself.
“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” she asked, hearing the accusatory note in her voice.
Brooke shrugged. “I have property in the Knolls.”
“I see.”
Ever was only vaguely aware that beyond this bleak, well traveled boulevard north of her neighborhood there were houses that could be considered fairly ritzy.
“And family.”
“Is that so?”
Brooke’s head cocked to one side. Glancing across the street, he pointed at a parking lot wedged between two buildings where a lone oil derrick, encircled in chain link fence, was slowing pumping. Those derricks were dotted all over this community like relics from the age of dinosaurs.
“That little chunk of land?”
“Yes?”
“It’s mine,” he said, monitoring her as though to confirm that she finally got the picture.
“Oh.” She got it alright. Not many of the original oil barons still lived in the area, but Ever had heard that a couple of families still maintained considerable holdings here. Apparently Brooke belonged to one of them.
“Then you live around here,” she assumed.
“No. Just visiting.”
Ever nodded haltingly.
“You live here,” he guessed.
“No. Not here.”
“Work, then?”
“Yes,” Ever admitted.
“Where?”
“A block or so down the street,” she said.
“On your lunch break now, I suppose?”
“Yes,” Ever said, relieved it was lunchtime and not five o’clock when she passed this way to catch the bus home.
“How long do you have?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“For lunch.”
“Oh, half an hour,” she told him, untruthfully.
“That’s short,” he said, hunching his shoulders against a sudden gust that tossed a lock of hair back off his forehead.
Ever was almost afraid he was about to invite her to go with him. There was an element of immediacy to his presence that temporarily robbed her of her sense of security in her private work-a-day surroundings. She was suddenly the girl in the white room and, although the feelings generated by this consciousness were not entirely unpleasant, she was torn and frightened by them.
She resented Brooke in that moment, and feared him, and desired him. She wondered if Stroud would permit or even prescribe a mid-day abduction by his young counterpart.
“I don’t have much time,” she said.
He was scrutinizing her closely. “You’re quite different, aren’t you?” he questioned.
“Different?”
“I almost didn’t recognize you.”
I wish you hadn’t, Ever thought.
“Better go,” he said finally.
Ever glanced up, not quite sure of his meaning.
“Have your lunch.”
Ever gave a brief nod and slipped away.
Although she’d brought some personal papers with her to the restaurant, Ever’s concentration was shot – at lunch and for the rest of the day. As it was, there was little time to concern herself with the petty games of Brooke or Stroud. Other forces were influencing the course of her life - and not for the better. That evening, when she stopped at the main office to turn in her appointment schedule, the boss called her back.
“Ever, come in. Let’s talk.”
And that was the beginning of the end.
Chapter Fourteen
Brooke developed a sudden interest in bondage. Or, perhaps it was more of an interest in avoiding further altercations with Ever. Not that he wasn’t perfectly capable of subverting every outbreak of resistance with sheer brute force, but it seemed to please him more to have Ever immobilized, completely at his mercy.
Stroud’s ottoman was an especially useful means to this end. Knelt and stretched over the ottoman, not only could Ever’s wrists be secured to a ring at the head of it, but her thighs could be spread and secured to the rings at the sides.
Ever was cast into new and frightening depths of humiliation when they first bound her in this position. Even in private, Stroud had never compromised her to quite this degree.
It was immediately clear that they could keep her contained like this for an indefinite period while they enjoyed what was apparently a uniquely pleasing visual spectacle for Brooke. Of course, Brooke was not a particularly patient man. The sight of Ever’s accessible posterior was irresistible. Likewise, Ever realized she could not lie in this position very long before she burned for Brooke’s rude assault.
But Ever was not yet aware of the reasons she needed to fear Brooke more than she already did.
On the night of his fourth visit, Ever came down the stairs to find Brooke already seated on the edge of the coffee table. Stroud was in his usual position on the couch. A variety of equipment was laid out on the table next to Brooke. Ever stopped in the middle of the floor to confront his intense blue gaze.
“Tonight you’re going to undress for me,” he informed her. No prelim. No polite conversation. No wine.
When Ever hesitated, Brooke reached over without looking, picked up the crop and placed it across his thighs.
“Take your clothes off,” he said and Ever’s hands immediately rose to the buttons of her blouse.
When she was stripped, Stroud encircled her neck with the collar while Brooke applied the manacles to her wrists. He held her in position as Brooke touched her breasts, pinching her nipples so hard she gasped. He insinuated his legs between hers and Stroud held her fast as Brooke spread her vagina for a detailed look. She was already panting slightly by the time Brooke decided she needed to be whipped. Together, they pressed her into the wall and affixed her wrists to the hanging chain.
Brooke was certainly no expert yet in the handling of whips, but by now he had cast off all inhibition. Ever squirmed and struggled mightily to control the fury kindled by his cruel, determined strokes. Stroud had the ability to whip her for prolonged periods before she succumbed to desperation or anger. Yet, with Brooke, Ever was defeated by the very first blow, which made each successive blow an intolerable insult that seemed to demand the most forceful resistance she could muster. And, although Stroud was capable of arousing just as much rage with his brutal, uncompromising beatings, there was never a shred of anger left in her by the time he deigned to release her from position.
Ever’s hands ached from the grip she’d taken around the hanging chain. Spurts of pressurized air hissed through her clenched teeth. After fifty fast, stinging lashes with the black whip, Brooke broke off and stepped back, panting slightly himself.
“Issue thirty more,” Stroud advised, too softly for Ever’s ears.
Brooke ignored the recommendation. Laying the whip aside, he turned Ever from the wall to look upon her. Her expression seemed harried and slightly divorced but Stroud wasn’t deceived. Ever struggled as Brooke pressed her with a savage kiss and, when he drew back to reach between her legs, Ever raised her foot and shoved him away. He staggered back with a gasp of surprise.
Stroud smiled slightly. “I told you.” He got up then and left, returning shortly after from the study with a ruler. “Try this,” he suggested, placing it in Brooke’s all too eager hand.
Brooke twisted Ever’s rigid body around again. Bracing her against the wall with his forearm, he blistered her behind with the ruler until her angry shouts turned to pitiful pleas. They then took her, limp and shivering, and bound her over the ottoman, which had been brought in beforehand.
Ever feared Brooke might resume with the whip or, worse, the ruler, cruelly punishing the tender
cleft between her spread thighs. She feared this because it was the worst case scenario she could imagine under the circumstances, which had reduced her to a state of dread and anticipation.
Her apprehension had pretty much diminished by the time the men had taken a break to repair to the kitchen for refreshments. By then, what was most pronounced was her sense of helplessness and humiliation at being so coldly displayed – her spread hindquarters deliberately turned to the couch where the men were seated.
When Brooke finally made his move, Ever was tense and afraid of the unexpected, yet eager for the anticipated. He knelt behind her and, when she heard his zipper open, her only fear was that he would realize how eagerly she awaited him.
Then he was in her, voraciously tunneling into the slick dark cavern he’d so soundly raped during their last encounter. Ever hung on, riding the flow with the extraordinary energies Brooke stirred in her. What a hungry man he seemed to be – and what a starvation he and Stroud had awakened in her.
As Brooke plowed her, she sought to match him, force to force, playing over the realization that Stroud was standing witness over this amazing drama, possibly awaiting the moment when he would trade places with Brooke. She thought she was nearing orgasm. That’s when it happened.
Brooke abruptly withdrew and, before she could imagine he’d do it, he forced the head of his rigid cock past the protective gate of the rear channel. Ever wrenched against the restraints, every muscle instinctively locking against the undefendable intrusion. A scream burst from her throat as Brooke thrust deeper, sending a shockwave of debilitating pain through her.
“Stroud, please!” she shrieked.
“Brooke, stop!” Stroud commanded, coming abruptly to his feet.
He was at Ever’s side in an instant. He released the restraints and she rose feebly from the ottoman, her face contorted with strain. Brooke stepped back as Stroud helped Ever stand and guided her toward the staircase.
“I’ll go,” Brooke volunteered.
“No, stay,” Stroud said. “I’ll be down in a moment.”
Upstairs in the bedroom, Stroud jerked back the bed covers and lay down with Ever, holding her tightly. Her body was still rigid with tension as she pressed into him.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Ever muttered, then clenched against another cramp. “Why does he do that?”
Stroud stroked her head. “Brooke wants to dominate you.”
Ever shuddered, her teeth ground together against a final wave of cramping.
“We are not out to destroy you.”
“I know that.”
“You had a perfect right to call a halt.”
“I feel like I failed you.”
“No. You were unprepared and that was my fault. It’s as much my responsibility to train you as it is to keep Brooke under control. I failed you both. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t blame yourself.”
“Oh, Ever,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “This is a delicate game. We all come into it as equals, no matter what roles we play. Although I assume responsibility as game master, it’s equally true each of us must take responsibility for our own actions. Brooke must learn to temper his aggression and, in this, you are his training ground. Likewise, you’ll learn from him. Remember what I said about submission becoming self destructive.”
“Yes.”
“It’s up to you to be on your guard. You must always protect yourself first. Always. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“I can tell Brooke it’s off.”
“No. He’d be hurt.”
Stroud hugged and kissed her again. “I know you don’t think you can succeed with Brooke but you can. And you will. Believe me. You will.”
***
He had spoken with confidence but Stroud did have his doubts. Not doubts about his ability to help Ever accept Brooke – at least physically – but doubts about the possible consequences of his actions. If he didn’t proceed carefully, there was a risk of driving Ever away. On the other hand, if she stuck with it, he ran the risk of driving her and Brooke too close together.
Brooke had interested him from the start. In Brooke he saw not only a kindred spirit, but also a reflection of himself as a young man. Dissatisfied with the pedestrian outlook on sexuality, Brooke was brash and eager to develop skill as a dominant in the S/M lifestyle. After years of frustration and confusion, Stroud had been lucky enough to find a mentor in Guy Lenoir, a man whose guidance and advice proved invaluable in Stroud’s own search for sexual identity.
Although Stroud met Francine outside the mainstream of suburban Parisian society, she did not share an active interest in the modes of play Stroud was exploring. Never-the-less, they fell deeply in love and Francine was never critical of her husband’s forays into the S/M underworld. Francine was acquainted with, and even fond of Guy, who continued as Stroud’s play companion for years after Stroud’s marriage to her.
In view of this, it was not unusual for Stroud to find himself involved in a triad, since most of the women he’d played with were Guy’s partners.
Stroud had learned that Brooke had ventured once or twice into brief three-way relationships, but they had been scenarios played out with duets of adventurous women in which there had been no S/M overtones.
Ever, Stroud knew, had participated in limited S/M activity with men with whom she’d shared long term relationships and, although he was fairly certain she had long fantasized about being dominated by two men, he was sure this was her first experience in such a situation. He appreciated the difficulty she had in expressing her sentiments about Brooke’s inclusion in their relationship, but he wished he had a deeper perception of her true feelings about it.
It was his dream to pass the gift Guy had given him on to Brooke. He wanted Ever to appreciate the importance of this to him, but he was reluctant to disclose the true level of Brooke’s inexperience. Despite Ever’s lack of practical exposure, she was still light years ahead of Brooke when it came to innate talent and her sense of direction. She also had the advantage in age and maturity, and Stroud knew both she and Brooke were aware of it.
It was important to maintain the balance of power. Ever’s role was that of the submissive and Stroud didn’t want to say or do anything to undermine Brooke’s authority by accentuating Ever’s advantage.
So he pursued what he felt was the best course for the present: continued, uncompromising dominance over Ever as he moved her in the direction he wanted her to take. In essence, training her to be capable of withstanding Brooke’s increasing demands and incorporating Brooke’s demands into his own program, knowing Ever would probably acquiesce if she believed she was doing it primarily for him.
Chapter Fifteen
As Brooke seemed to be the catalyst for so much that went on at that time, so he seemed to be the spur that drove Stroud into introducing Ever to another of the upstairs rooms – his personal dungeon.
Although Ever might have thought of it that way, the room actually didn’t look like a dungeon at all. It was merely a room specifically furnished for the purposes of S/M activity. Since she’d never seen anything like it before, Ever was startled and beset by a surge of new apprehensions.
It may have been Brooke’s growing demands that prompted Stroud’s taking Ever in there, but her experiences with her master in this room brought a richer, more intimate psychological depth to the relationship. Not until this moment had Ever perceived herself as being “in training” for the role she played for Stroud and, although on one level it was a rude awakening, she was able to take comfort from the thought. She understood that, for things to remain fresh there needed to be new challenges. But as Brooke had proven, her adaptation to unfamiliar situations would not always come instinctively. It was reassuring to know that Stroud had the patience to take the necessary steps to prevent her submission from becoming victimization.
Of course, many of th
ese realizations only came with hindsight. The shock and humiliation of Ever’s initiation to this room impacted her strongly.
Stroud delivered her to its holding already stripped, collared and manacled. He led her in by a leash and locked the door behind them.
There was little time to study or acclimatize herself to the environment before she was nimbly incorporated into it, her wrists attached to a chain hanging from an eyebolt screwed into an overhead beam. With an additional set of leather manacles, her ankles were spread and secured to chains extending from eyebolts in the baseboards on opposite sides of the narrow room.
During the few moments it took Stroud to immobilize her, Ever took in only quick impressions of what seemed to be an extraordinary collection of equipment arranged along one wall, a flash of a table supporting a bank of numerous little square drawers and a long, vinyl padded bench about waist height. The room was permeated with the smell of polished leather and there were eyebolts everywhere – a place where things of this nature need not be situated with subtlety or forced to assume the guise of some other mundane function.
Stroud blindfolded her. Ever struggled in a minor way, as if to register a protest at the strict restraint and the new, unexpected circumstances. Stroud calmed her with caresses, a touch that soothed and thrilled her at once. Almost instantly she was seduced by her need for that touch. The hands that had brought her so much pleasure had pushed her beyond so many invisible barriers. The hands that promised to guide her along so many more paths into undreamed of adventures.
Then his voice, the soughing of that low coercive wind that whispered through her psyche. Beckoning, urging, and luring her through doorway after doorway into the unknown. And yes, she believed she would trust those caresses and follow that voice anywhere it dared her to go. Anywhere...
“I’m going to bring you in here frequently from now on. Steep you ever more deeply in your submission to me.”
Stroud kissed her, his fingers flowing over her flesh like so many tiny dancers. He pressed against her and Ever leaned into him in open expression of her trust and longing.